Sent to the conflict with unconquered hearts,
And eyes that Tyranny could ne’er abase,
Unerringly to guide their fiery darts,
Where Vengeance winged with every shot departs.
And hasting to the War, whose sacred cry
Was “Death to the Invader!”, warm while starts
The big round tear from fair Pastora’s eye,
The peasant-soldier thus with Heaven made an ally:—
The Guerrillero to his Mistress.
1.